Hello, Sister Dear
by The Lupine Sojourner
Summary: [Completed] Amelia Holmes grieves her brother's unexplained suicide for two years, nearly drowning in her grief in the process. So, when Sherlock comes back and acts like nothing's changed, she is justifiably upset. Sherlock tries to fix their relationship, but Amy may not ever forgive him and let him in again. One-shot w/epilogue. OC/OC as main couple. OCC!Sherlock with sister.
1. The (Un)Happy Return (at first)

**THIS IS AN IDEA THAT HAS BEEN PLAGUING ME FOR A LONG TIME; SHERLOCK HAVING A LITTLE SISTER.**

 **SOMETHING ABOUT IT JUST...MAKES ME HAPPY. DUNNO WHY...**

 **ANYWAY, THIS IS AMELIA HOLMES' STORY: SHE BASICALLY IS THE VESSEL FOR THE HOLMES BROTHERS' MISSING EMOTIONS, OR SO THEY TELL HER REPEATEDLY, TEASING HER ABOUT THIS NUMEROUS TIMES. HOWEVER, IT IS CLEAR THEY LOVE THEIR LITTLE SIS FOR THE ABILITY TO EXCEL IN THE ONE AREA THEY CANNOT; HUMAN NATURE. AMELIA KNOWS HER BROTHERS LOVE HER, BUT THE OPPOSING...EVERYTHING MAKE IT DIFFICULT. AMELIA MOVES IN WITH SHERLOCK BECAUSE SHE CAN'T FIND A PLACE THAT SHE CAN ACTUALLY AFFORD, AND IS ON MUCH BETTER TERMS WITH HIM THEN MYCROFT. THUS, SHE GOES ON HIS ADVENTURES WITH HIM AND (SOON ENOUGH) WATSON.**

 **NO, THIS IS NOT A WATSON/OC STORY. NOPE. THIS IS AN OC/OC STORY.*GASP* WWHHHAAATTT? IS THERE SUCH A THING?! YEP. THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS ALREADY ESTABLISHED, CUS I DON'T FEEL LIKE MAKING THAT UP. ;) HOPE YOU LIKE HER!**

 **THIS TAKES PLACE JUST AS SHERLY COMES BACK, OKAY? CUS I CAN. OH, AND SHERLOCK IS A BIT MORE HUMAN IN THIS STORY, BECAUSE HE KNOWS THAT AMELIA IS HIS _SISTER_ AND THAT HE CAN BE BREAKING IN FRONT OF HER AND SHE WOULD THINK NO LESS OF HIM. THEY ARE MUCH CLOSER THAN MYCROFT AND SHERLOCK ARE, AS WELL.**

 **THIS IS JUST ONE POSSIBLE SCENARIO, BTW, THE OTHER BEING THAT THEY TOLD HER AND SHE WAS IN ON IT, BUT I DIDN'T WANT TO WRITE THAT, SO...HERE'S THIS.**

 **GOD BLESS AND GOOD DAY!**

 **~THE LUPINE SOJOURNER**

 **Amelia, would you be available to come for dinner at approximately 6:00 this evening?**

The text rang through my head all day. I didn't know what Mycroft was playing at, but I knew he was playing at _something_.

He has never really been the sort to do this. However, he had made an effort to catch up with me every now and again over the course of the last two years of hell I've lived through. This does not explain his current behavior, however, which has me all kinds of confused.

Sometimes, I seriously envy Myc's lack of emotions; must be so liberating and...weird...not feeling anything about your own brother's...death...

These past two years have been torment, a constant reminder of...of...

" _Sherlock!"_ The day my life fell apart. I just...I can't seem to shake the feeling that...that there's something more, something I am _so_ close to figuring out...something my brothers never told me about concerning that fatal day.

But I just can't put a finger on it. So I mope and I try not to let myself sink too deep as I drive to me and my brother's dinner date, and something jumps out at me. So far, Mycroft has been pretty absent, not really even texting me beyond causal conversation to ensure I was alive.

So why the sudden want to meet with me?! I was understandably wary as I entered the appointed meeting place; Mycroft's home. I was directed by his assistant to a side room off a hallway I knew Mycroft's office was situated in.

"Are we having dinner in Mycroft's office or something?" I ask wryly. All I get is a vague smile and continued cell-phone keyboard clacking. Rolling my eyes, I follow and enter the door she pointed at. Feeling suddenly quite apprehensive, I grasp the door handle and turn it, opening the door and stepping in before I can think about it too much.

"Ah, there you are!" Mycroft greets before I've even fully entered, but once I do...

What greeted me made me both scream in shock and nearly run out of the room in outrage.

"Hello, sister dear!" Sherlock, my _dead_ older brother, cheers with a genuine smile, sitting prim as you please on an office chair, without a care in the world, as if this were perfectly normal. "Tea?" I scowl, stalking forward and, before I could stop myself, I had slapped him full across the face, dodging Mycroft's attempts to pull me back.

"How... _dare_...you." I growl. "You...you...complete, utter, _bloody_ idiot!" I scream, tears of rage and relief streaming, though only rage powered me. "You absolute _prick_! You...you leave—no, you _die—_ for _two **years**_ , then come back and say 'hello, sister dear', offering me tea like you've only been on holiday?!" I didn't realize I had been accenting my words with hard shoves against his chest until Mycroft forcibly removed me. I remained facing Sherlock, however, far from done with the things I needed to say. "Not _one_ word, not even a _hint_ , that you were okay, that you are fricking _alive_ , then you come in here, large as life and thinking you can just swing back in and everything will be the same?!" I pull at my hair in frustration at the lost, hurt, haggard(huh?) look on Sherlock's face, as if _I_ were doing something wrong, as if _he_ was the victim. "How in the _world_ was this—Know what? Forget it." I seethe, storming out of the room. At least, I _was_ , until Sherlock's hand encases my arm in a strong grip.

"Amy." Sherlock whispers. I don't look at him. "I missed you." I scoff.

"Really? Should have thought of that before you jumped off that blasted roof." I wrench my arm free and continue leaving. Sherlock, stupidly, decided to follow me. And then had the nerve to hug me from behind. "Let. Go." I growl, standing stock-still and stiff as a board. He did, albeit reluctantly.

"I really did miss you. Please...stay." I merely walk away, frustrated by the urge to hug him, tell him it's okay, because it was _not_ okay and I hate it! I _hate_ that he didn't tell me what he was up to. He didn't trust me with that information. Neither of them, not _one_ word. I stalk out of the house and storm toward the car. Slamming the heel of my hand into the steering wheel repeatedly only added pain to the sensations rippling through me.

Hurt.

Relief.

Grief.

Love. However, my siblings didn't trust me. They knew I knew about Moriarty and how devious he was, and how all he wanted was to see Sherlock's demise, no matter the cost or lengths he had to go to.

So...why?! Why didn't they include me in all this?! Groaning at my own weakness and intense lingering curiosity, I get out of the car and slowly walk back in.

"How?" Is all I ask as soon as I reach the doorway. "Actually, just forget it. I don't really care how you faked it. Just...What was it, exactly, you wanted me to stay for?" Sherlock swallows.

"Company." I frown, but sit down in a chair almost despite myself...breathing Sherlock in again. He's lost five-no, seven and a half-pounds at least since I've seen him last, but it could be more. I've never been as good at deductions as my brothers, after all. In addition, he's far more sunken, haggard and...almost haunted than two years ago. I shake myself before I dwell on that too long. No room for pity when he left me to grieve for two years without given reason. I sit there in stony silence as Sherlock's chair is reclined and a man comes in and begins shaving the scruffy beard Sherlock had obtained. I don't miss the tiny gasp of pain Sherl gives off as he leans back, but don't quite know what to make of it. I pull out my phone, desperate for some distraction. Instagram offers nothing stimulating and neither does Pinterest, so I stop trying. Sighing, I slump into the chair. "So...what the frick took you so long to tell me you were alive?" I ask, trying hard (and failing) to keep the bitterness out of my voice. Sherlock and Mycroft simultaneously shuffle uncomfortably.

"For your protection, of course. The sniper woul-" Mycroft begins.

" _What_ sniper?!" I hiss. Mycroft rolls his eyes and looks at me.

"Why else would Sherlock leap? Moriarty wanted to destroy him. You two worked that out on your own. So, he offered incentive for Sherlock to 'end' his life; threatening yours and all Sherlock's...associates. What he didn't know was that we had planned it all out ahead of time." I narrow my eyes.

"Without telling me, _your own little sister_?"

"Precisely. If Moriarty had known you knew you were being stalked, it would have potentially thrown our plans to get rid of him into chaos." I stand abruptly. How dare they decide to discount me just because it _could_ have wrecked their plan?!

"Wha-I can't _believe_ this! You know as well as I do that, _were I included_ , I would have carried out the plan, just as instructed. I could have fit the role. I could have _helped_ , you asinine little _git_." I spit. Mycroft and I were not on much better terms than Sherlock and Mycroft, really, when it came down to it. I _tried_ to be nice. I really did, but he made it so difficult sometimes. Sitting back down, I turned to Sherlock. Only for me to find him barely restraining laughter. "What?" I snap testily.

"Oh, it's just...it's been two years. I nearly forgot what you and Mycroft are like." I huff, rolling my eyes as I slump into the chair again.

"Glad I amuse you."

"You should be. Not a small feat." I roll my eyes, but the anger is faded a little. Sherlock then goes silent, as does Mycroft. Mycroft picks up and examines several files I just now notice strewn about his desk. Silence reigns for about two whole minutes as I watch Sherlock getting shaved while reading the paper and Mycroft reading files.

"You have been busy, haven't you? Quite the busy little bee." Myc muses wryly.

"You still haven't told me where he was." I growl sourly.

"You haven't asked." I translated that as 'We won't tell you' and rolled my eyes.

"Figures." I reply. The pair smirk, and I knew I'd translated correctly, although there was something...pained, haunted even, in Sherlock's gaze before it morphed into amusement. I cock my head subtly, not wanting to ask, knowing they'd only avoid it. Honestly, their constant need to 'protect' me has moved far beyond annoying. I heave a sigh and try a different tactic to get answers to my many question. "What have you been doing?" I ask. Sherlock swallows subtly before replying.

"Moriarty's network. Took me two years to dismantle it." I blink.

"Whoa. You took down an international terrorist organization in _two years_?" He nods.

"And you're confident you _have_?" Mycroft asks. I roll my eyes.

"Nice to know you have confidence in your little brother, Myc." I snap. He grimaces at me.

"The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle." Sherlock assures us.

"Yes. Got yourself in deep there with Baron Maupertius." Mycroft replies, checking the name on a file.

"Who's that?" I ask.

"Not important." Mycroft replies off-handedly, tossing the small file back onto his desk. "Quite a scheme."

"Colossal." Sherlock affirms, but there's something about his gaze...I don't like, but I know asking directly won't get me anywhere, so I decide against pressing.

"Anyway, you're safe now." Mycroft continues.

"Why was that ever in question?" I ask before I can stop myself. Mycroft sighs.

"One does not exactly dismantle a terrorist network from the safety of home, sister dear."

"Don't 'sister dear' me with that tone, Myc. I know I didn't inherit your exact amount of brainpower, though what I've got is still a deal more than average." I snap back.

"You know, a small 'thank you' wouldn't go amiss." Mycroft muses to Sherlock casually.

"What for?" Sherlock replies a little testily.

"For wading in. In case you forgot, field work is not my natural milieu."

"Wait..."' I ask, the pieces suddenly colliding. Serbia, the groans, the pained grimaces... "Oh, Sherlock..." I whisper, as my brother frowns, waves at the barber to stop and sits up, groaning slightly as he does so.

"'Wading in'?!" He snaps. "You sat there and watched me getting beaten to a pulp!" I round on Mycroft before he can reply.

"You _what_?!" I roar, fists shaking.

"I got you out." Mycroft replies, avoiding directly addressing my question.

"No, _I_ got me out. Why didn't you intervene sooner?" Sherlock growls. Mycroft frowns that 'you are being an idiot' frown.

"I couldn't possibly risk giving myself away. It would have ruined everything."

"It doesn't matter if you blew your cover, git!" I scream back. "He. Is. Your. _Brother_!" I scoff when my brother's expression did not change at all. "I'm beginning to think you've deleted the definition of 'sibling' from your memory bank, Mycroft!" He merely gives me that idiotic frown of disappointment.

"You were enjoying it." Sherlock snaps.

"Nonsense." Mycroft replies, almost too quickly.

"Definitely enjoying it." Sherlock replies.

"Listen, do you have any idea what it was like, Sherlock, going undercover? Smuggling my way into their ranks like that? The noise, the _people_!"

"Oh, the poor baby." I growl mockingly, seriously fighting the impulse to slap my asinine brother right across his stupid face.

"I didn't know you spoke Serbian." Sherlock muses from out of apparently nowhere, grunting as he lays down again the barber continues shaving, seemingly deaf to the family affair happening around him.

"I didn't." Mycroft replies. "But the language has a Slavic root. Frequent Turkish and German loan words. Took me a couple of hours."

"Hmmm, you're slipping." Sherlock replies wryly. I smirk.

"Amelia could have learned it in mere days, yet there's no criticism towards her."

" _Hey_!" I snap in protest.

"Besides, middle-age, brother mine. Come to us all." Then, just as Sherlock sat up as soon as the barber was finished, I notice fresh small cuts and nicks peeking out over the edge of the shirt Sherlock has on. Frowning, I take a step closer.

"Sherlock...take off your shirt, please?" I ask, examining the little nicks and praying it wasn't what I thought it was.

"What? What for?" He replies and there's this thing about his voice...it almost seems desperate. Like he wanted nothing more than to bolt for the door, rather than reveal whatever was hidden beneath that fabric. That made me all the more anxious to discover what that something was. Sherlock swallows thickly, but slowly, hesitantly, does as I ask. His hands shake, I note, as he pulls the shirt down his arms. Then, the fabric falls silently to the floor and (though I knew beforehand that I would) I regret the request.

Those are flogging scars! Very recent, judging by the residual redness and shiny smoothness to his skin. I can only cry out in shock, eyes locked onto the grisly spectacle. And as soon as I saw him...I ground those scars into the chair, and he never...oh, no...

"Oh, my..." I breath, hands clasped over my mouth. "Oh, Sherlock...why didn't you...I'm so sorry...so sorry..." I whimper.

"Whatever for?" Sherlock asks gently. He knows, better than Mycroft does, that I easily get emotional, so he gently grips my shoulder encouragingly, soothingly. I swallow.

"I-I-I...I just...I pressed your back into the chair...without thinking..." He merely smiles at me.

"That's it? Honestly, I went through a lot more then-"

"I hurt you! And you...why didn't you tell me about the scars _then_?" I ask. He sighs.

"Precisely the same reason I didn't tell you that I was alive and what I was doing; I know what worry does to you." I swallow, feeling lightheaded and just...locking up. "Amelia...please just..." I shake my head and racing out of the room and out of the house, tears streaming down my cheeks, even as I slam my car door behind me. I wipe tears away and start the car. As I power out of the driveway, I get a text from John. He and I had somehow remained in contact. While it was tenuous and slow, it was something. We didn't mention Sherlock or the things we'd been through together, but we talked about our day, we talked about our significant others, anything to say we talk. But really, it's small talk. We get together at Speedy's every once in a blue moon, tonight being one such occasion, however, so...I check the phone at a red light.

 **I'm having dinner with Mary tonight. I forgot that we were going to go to Speedy's. Sorry.**

 _ **No problem.**_ I replied, sighing heavily as the light turns green and I continue heading home. I still lived in 221d, too stubborn to move and too unwilling to hurt Mrs. Hudson. We didn't really talk, either. More like small talk over coffee before I head to the library for the day. It was a steady, monotonous job, but I liked the steadiness and monotony to it. It grounded me, therapeutic in a way. It was a Saturday today, however, so I didn't work. I lay on my bed when I arrive and let my thoughts wonder. Sam, my husband, is away on that blasted business trip for another day or two. Fudge. I could really use his comfort and mere presence right now...

More often than not, the thoughts replaying the most were along the lines of 'how could they be so stupid? Why didn't they involve me from the start?' as well as...

Why didn't Sherlock come out with the scars sooner?! How did he even get them?! I mean, I knew how, but...you know what I mean.

"Yoo-hoo!" Mrs. Hudson calls. "Care for a bit of chicken and salad? That's all I got, I'm afraid..." I smile despite myself and heave my body off the bed. This will be a decent distraction.

"Yeah, I'll be right there." I reply, heaving another sigh as I straighten myself up a bit. When I head out, however, Mrs. Hudson is finishing dishes, and who else should be coming into the flat but Sherlock Holmes, smiling broadly and acting like he was simply back from a case. Mrs. Hudson screams in shock and elation, and I retreat back into the living area, subconsciously realizing I was in 221b. He quickly got Mrs. Hudson to calm down and sit in a kitchen chair while he reassured her that her eyes did not deceive her and that he was not a ghost.

"Now, is Amelia here?" Mrs. Hudson nods.

"Poor girl seemed rather put out, but I think she's still in her room." I hide in the hallway and sprint for the small staircase to my tiny flat, but Sherlock sees me.

"Ah, Amy. I was hoping to-"

"Sherlock..." I whisper. "I can't do this right now." I whisper and close my flat door behind me. Growling aloud in frustration at myself and my inability to face my brother, I throw myself back onto my bed.

"Amy, please. I know you-"

"You don't know _anything_ about what I'm going through, now _leave me the frick alone_." I interject, tears already brimming, the sting of hurt still fresh at the sight of those horrendous scars. I hear his slightly shaky breaths before he turns slowly and walks away, the footsteps betraying the hurt he feels.

As if either of my brothers could feel real hurt. They never feel anything and it drives me up a tree. However, hearing the obvious hurt my brother felt, I feel an irrational urge to chase Sherlock down and just spill everything about how I'm feeling and just give in to the urge to just go along with the way my brother was acting. But he needs to know that this behavior is _not_ normal, that _no one_ ever finds this okay. He had so flippantly addressed the horrors he had been through and I knew he was suffering through the aftermath of whatever he had done. And now he seemed to want to...talk to me? I don't know, but after those scars...and that look on his face...I just can't. I'll be able to handle it soon, just...not right now.

=#=#=#=#=

"Amy, dear...what was that about?" Mrs. Hudson asks timidly. I merely pulled myself tighter into a ball.

"Family issues." I reply shortly.

"I don't see how...your brother is back. Aren't you happy?" I groan and press myself further into the mattress.

"I am. Deep down...it's just..." I pause for a second. I can't and won't tell Mrs. Hudson about the scars or the flogging or anything beyond whatever might justify my current mood. "Mycroft and Sherlock didn't tell me that they were planning something and that Sherlock wouldn't actually die when he fell off that fricking roof somehow...and...and then, to top it off, _neither_ of them told me during the _two years_ it's been since Sherlock...and Moriarty...that Sherlock would be okay. That I didn't need to cry myself to sleep, grieve every day for no reason..." Mrs. Hudson then gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"You know there must be some reason behind all this."

"Yeah? Wish my brothers would have told me." _Wish they had told me a lot of things._ I add internally, then sigh. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson. I'm not meaning to be a bee-atch. I just...they make me so mad sometimes. They act like whatever they do is perfectly fine, that they can get away with anything, and it really grates every once in a while."

"Regardless, Amelia...they are your brothers." She replies before standing and leaving without another word. She is right, but even brothers can step out of line.

And mine ran a mile beyond it.

=#=#=#=#=

 _"Amy, please go back inside."_

 _"No!" I bark, stalking toward my brother, who is currently standing on the ledge of St Bart's rooftop. "Sherlock, talk to me. What's wrong?" This doesn't add up. He seemed so confident he was ahead of Moriarty or thereabouts. So why the sudden, drastic change in his attitude? Doesn't make sense..._

 _"Moriarty was right. I-I-"_

 _"No!" I snap. I knew that wasn't it. "Don't give me that! What's wrong? Why is Moriarty dead and why are you about to commit suicide?!" I scream, and yet Sherlock doesn't move._

 _"..."_

 _"Sherlock." I growl, the command clear._

 _"Amelia...I...I can't get off and I can't...I **have** to just...I have to do this." I take another step forward._

 _"Sherlock, please. Whatever's wrong, we'll work it out. Like always. Please. Come down." The only reply I get is my brother pulling out his phone and dialing a speed dial number. John's, most likely, since it was practically the top of the list in Sherlock's speed dial and he isn't here at the moment._

 _"John." Sherlock greets. "Turn around and walk back the way you came." I start to come over and see what's happening, but Sherlock motions for me to stay, and some part of me knows I need to obey, so I do. "Just do as I ask, please." He pleads. I frown._ What the frick is going on? _"Stop there." He instructs. I swallow. Why is he acting like this? Why won't he tell me what he's doing?  
_

 _"Sherlock, please..." I whisper._

 _"Okay, look up, I'm on the rooftop." Is the only thing he says, and it's directed at John. "I-I...I can't come down, so we'll just have to do it like this." He goes on. There it is again. 'Can't come down'. What does that mean? "An apology. It's all true. Everything they said about me." Again, he tries to sell John on Moriarty's lie. Just like he did with me, but why? Why is it imperative all of a sudden that he make us believe that horrid lie? "I'm a fake."_

 _"No, you are not, now stop and get down from there and-" Sherlock silences me with a glare from the corner of his eye._

 _"I want you to tell Lestrade. I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly. In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes." There's a long pause and Sherlock smiles a little. "Nobody could be_ that _clever." He replies, almost in a whimper before laughing a little. "I researched you. Before we met, I found out everything I could to impress you."  
_

 _"No, you'd never heard of the name 'John Watson', Sherlock! Please, just-" Another glare. It is as if he doesn't want to hear what I know to be true, as if he needed to get through what he was saying._

 _"It's all just a trick. Just a magic trick." I swallow, the tension rising. As soon as he was least expecting it, I'd get him the frick down. "_ No, _stay exactly where you are! Don't move!" Sherlock pleads and I can't exactly tell who he's addressing for a second. "Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, would you do this for me?" I take a silent step forward and then another. If this kept up, I'd be able to get him down and everything would be okay. "This phone call, it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note." He whispers, and I swear his voice shakes a little. I continue stalking forward, intent on making him see reason. "Goodbye, John." He concludes. I feel icy veins of horror fill me. He was about to jump and I was still too far fricking away. I hear John scream Sherlock's name, just barely. I tear forward, but it's too late._

* * *

It wasn't until I heard screaming that I realized a)Sherlock had come back into 221b and b)I had fallen asleep.

However, the screaming also alerted me that something was wrong with Sherlock and that I would probably need to intervene before he woke Mrs. Hudson. Grumbling about the time, I hurried along. Reaching his room, I open the door to find Sherlock, face down, tossing and turning on the mattress, the sheets tangled up around his body. I race over, and gently try to still his thrashing.

"Sherlock, it's okay. Please wake up." He then turns onto his side (facing me) and clearly whimpers 'not her. Please not her. She's my sister.' I swallow and try again to rouse him. "I'm right here, it's okay." He came awake with a jolt that nearly head-but me in the nose, but I was prepared for that and moved aside. His hand subconsciously (or maybe consciously) clasped tightly into my tank top (I wore a tank top and shorts to bed), and he just sat there, breathing heavily.

"I'm at Baker Street." He muses. I can't resist a tiny smile.

"No duh, Sherlock. I heard your nightmare from my flat."

"You're here, too. You didn't move out." He surmises. "Thought you may have...wouldn't have blamed you..."

"I wanted to." I confess. "I just...after John left, I knew I'd missed my chance, and so I stayed here for Mrs. Hudson. I never- _we_ never-went into 221b, however. We just...left that alone." He nods.

"The dust was almost tangible from the stairs." I roll my eyes and slowly sit on the bed, adjusting Sherlock's position subtly as I did so. He turns and buries his face in my shoulder. "I hated every second I was away." He whispers. "I _wanted_ to tell you, but...I knew it was highly dangerous until Moriarty's network had been utterly destroyed. They had spies everywhere. They would have killed you to get to me if they knew you knew I was onto them." I nod, the final questions answered.

"Why didn't you tell me all this as soon as I arrived at the house instead of greeting me like old times?" I ask.

"I didn't know how to best go about it." He replies, voice muffled by my hair. "I'm sorry." And just like that, I find all the bitterness I didn't know I'd held onto was released. Sherlock, my big brother, the one to chase nightmares away and the one who always told me it was better not to feel so much...had lowered himself enough to ask for my forgiveness, sounding like a naughty child after discipline...and it broke through the walls and let me know that he meant it, that he meant every word.

"I...I forgive you, Sherlock."

 **WELL! THIS TURNED INTO A MONSTROUS THING, DIDN'T IT? ;)**

 **WHEN I STARTED, I DIDN'T THINK IT WOULD END UP, LIKE, 5000 WORDS LONG. OOPS! HOPE YOU LIKED IT, ANYWAY! I APOLOGIZE FOR SHERLOCK'S OOC-NESS. I FELT IT WAS NEEDED FOR THIS STORY. I HOPE I JUSTIFIED IT SATISFACTORILY ABOVE, THOUGH. LOVE YOU ALL!**


	2. Epilogue: A Happier Dawn Breaks

**HEY, Y'ALL! I JUMPED RIGHT TO THIS EPILOGUE. HOPE YOU LIKE AMELIA AND THE STORY. I DO.**

 **GOD BLESS AND GOOD DAY!**

 **~THE LUPINE SOJOURNER**

"How?" Sherlock asked, bewildered, head still buried in my shoulder. "I...I can see now how much what I did hurt, even now, and..." I sigh heavily, moving to sit against the edge of the bed pressing against the wall. Sherlock clung to me like he would never let go, like I was his lifeline, further convincing me that I had done the right thing.

"I won't lie. It still hurts, but...I know you didn't exactly enjoy your business trip, either, so I can at least forgive you. Doesn't mean I am happy and completely at peace with what happened, but...I forgive you." Sherlock nods into my collarbone and directs me to lay down. Interestingly, he chooses to pose me on the outside, curled around him like a blanket. I pull him a little closer. We don't need to say anything. He knows I am not happy at being excluded, but also I know he went through Hell to get that network out of commission for good, coming closer to understanding each other and that alone had mostly repaired the rift in our relationship. I, on impulse, kissed the top of his head.

"I love you, you know that?" I stiffen slightly, never one to know what to do when approached with things like this by my brother.

"Really, Sherlock, you're exhausted. Just go to sleep." His hand clenches mine harder, as if afraid I'll disappear if he lets go. "Sherlock, I swear I will not leave. Just go to sleep." I mutter, suddenly succumbing to the need to return to sleep. He presses himself harder against me. I squeeze harder in return, but can't help feeling a little bewildered.

"I really do mean it, Amelia. I have never told you because I feared it, like all other emotions, but...I really do love you." I swallow.

"I know. I love you, too, even if you are a majorly asinine, insensitive jerk most of the time." I reply in a light, teasing tone.

"I really can...can be, you know." Sherlock muses in between tiny yawns. I squeeze him gently. We both know what he's like.

"Let's go to sleep, kay?"

"Alright, Amy. I love you." There it is again; I haven't heard that phrase since he was fifteen and I was twelve. He'd been getting more and more distant, absorbed in his studies, especially after...Redbeard. I like it.

"I love you, too, Sherlock. Now, shu...shush..." I mutter, genuinely but tiredly, as I feel myself falling asleep even as I spoke. I almost miss Sherlock's turning around and kissing the top of my forehead before I fell asleep.

=#=#=#=#=

"Caught in the act!" Came the hyper, happy voice I knew all too well, even when barely half-conscious and not willing to make the rest of the journey. "Heard from Mrs. Hudson, but didn't believe it."

"It's not what it looks like, dork. Sherly just...well, doesn't matter, cus nothing happened." I grumbled, catching myself in the nick of time and sitting up, tossing a pillow half-heartedly at my extremely nerdy and lovably dorky husband, Samuel. "Now, please, before-"

"Too late." Sherlock grumbles beside me. I try and force him to lie back down, but he's having none of it. "Good morning, Samuel. How was the biscuits and tea?" He asked lazily as he left. Sam merely shook his head.

"One of these days, I'll learn how you two do that..." He muses.

"Crumbs on your jacket, love, and drips of tea still on your goatee to match. As for teaching you, it's in the Holmes' DNA, I'm afraid." I reply lightly, standing up and hugging him. "Can't be taught."

"Well, perhaps I can persuade you." He muses, dipping me and stealing a passionate kiss before I can reply.

"I would, 'specially after that, but...like I said, DNA." I muse, laughing, and steal another kiss and then leave to get coffee before Sherlock takes it all. "Good morning, by the way, now let's get something to eat." I call back, yawning as I stretch and find Sherlock still making coffee. I feel Sam wrap his arms around me from behind, and I lean into his embrace. "I take it the Dublin office didn't need you as bad as they thought they did?" I ask. He nods.

"Yep. How are you, with...all this?" I sigh.

"It was a little rough, at first, but...we worked it out, Sherlock and I." I reply after a moment. Yes, we had certainly worked it out. Myc and I's relationship still needs work, but I doubt that's ever going to happen, on account of him rarely involving himself with us.

* * *

"So...have you seen John yet?" I ask. Sherlock grimaces.

"Yes. My nose still hurts."

"Oh, my. Head-butt?" I ask lazily, leaning my head back to kiss Samuel as he came over with eggs and toast. "Thanks, love." I murmur genuinely and he sits next to me and Sherlock rolls his eyes. I liked cooking, as well, but Samuel sometimes got it into his head that _he_ would be the cook for the entire day. This led to small bickering until one of us conceded and sat down.

"Still sort of gettin' over the fact that you're back, Sherlock." He muses, chuckling. Sherlock gives off that 'why am I not surprised?' smirk. I roll my eyes, but don't want Sam to feel bad if I call Sherlock out on it.

"Yeah, same. Nice eggs, by the way. Oh, and Sherlock? I am hoping to get a half-day off work, but no promises." Sherlock looks up from scrolling through his phone.

"Work? What work? I've been away." I mock(but not really)-glare at him.

"Haha, brother mine. I work as a Librarian." My brother frowns. "I needed steady and monotonous. That fit the bill." He nods, easily picking up on the _why_ I needed monotonous. I sigh. "So, I'd better see if I can get a lunch date with him?" It was a Monday (Sherlock having been mute and busily setting something up all Sunday, thus I had been out with Sam to church and shopping) now, and so I had to leave soon.

"And what?" Sherlock asks, mouth quirking in a grin. "Have to confess that you saw me before he did? That would probably result in you getting a bloody nose, as well, and I'd rather not have to reciprocate." I roll my eyes.

"I wouldn't want you to reciprocate, Sherlock. Wouldn't end well for either of you. And, if you did reciprocate, he'd see that as you picking my side and alienating him. Again, so you're probably right; no lunch date." I say.

"Oh, I agree. Bad idea. By the way, how's married life going?" I grin. Only a matter of time before he noticed. Either the rings, or just something about us would have eventually given it away.

"Marital bliss, brother mine. Might want to try it sometime. Come close with Janine."

"That was for a case. I...felt no attachment." I cock a brow, but refrain from unleashing a sarcastic comment boiling up.

"Right. Sorry, loves, but I gotta dash!" I proclaim. "Love you both, see you later!" I cheer, kissing Samuel one last time before sliding my jean jacket on and heading out.

"Love you!" I hear _both_ men call after me. I smile, truly happy and giddy for the first time since Samuel proposed and we went that same day to get the marriage license. No sense making a fiasco out of it. We had felt married (without consummation, of course) for a long time previously, so why make a big ceremony of it?

=#=#=#=#=

"You are remarkably happy today." My dear friend, Trinity, notes happily as she slips arrived holds onto the shelves. "You aren't married again, are you?" She asks wittily. I roll my eyes, unable to stop grinning.

"No, just...uh..."

"You're pregnant?!"

"Shut up, Trin! No, I am not pregnant!" I hiss good-naturedly. "Just...I'm happy." I reply with a shrug. Trinity eyes me suspiciously.

"I still think you are pregnant." She whispers.

"I am _not_ pregnant!" However...I kinda wish I was. Be easier to explain my giddiness, as Sherlock obviously doesn't want some spectacle made of his return. So, I kinda just have to wing it and hope no one notices the inconsistencies.

Oh, well. Wouldn't want it any other way.

 **THERE! MUCH SHORTER! IS THAT BETTER? ANYWAY, HOPE YOU LIKED AND I KNOW THE ENDING SUCKS. COULDN'T THINK OF HOW TO PROPERLY END IT WITHOUT MAKING MYSELF WANT TO WRITE MORE.**

 **CHAIO!**


End file.
